


Fight Or Feed

by relucant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Bisexual Dean, Bottom Dean, Dom/sub Undertones, Ex-God Castiel, First Time, Human Dean, M/M, Mark of Cain, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Spanking, Swimming Pools, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relucant/pseuds/relucant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay," Dean finally blurted out without quite meaning to, and Cas looked at him questioningly.  "Okay -- yeah.  If you think you can help me figure out how to -- how to fight the Mark, without feedin' it -- yeah, okay.  I'll try it."</p><p>Cas tilted his head, studying his face.  "Are you sure?"</p><p>Dean snorted mirthlessly.  "Nope."  He flexed his fingers unconsciously.  "But you're right, man.  The path I'm on -- I got it under control now, but it slips a little every time.  Every kill.  I ain't winnin' this fight, Cas."</p><p>"No," Cas agreed quietly.  "You aren't."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Or Feed

**Author's Note:**

> This pretty much grew from the fact that I think the Sherlock/Moriarty pool scene is sexy as all hell and I wanted to set something there. And, gosh, it's been like _weeks_ since I've been around polluting the spanked!dean tag.
> 
> Note: I don't think there's really any dubcon; consent is pretty explictly requested and received, but it could maybe be read as such. I hope not.
> 
> Enjoy!

The slip-slap of Castiel's dress shoes on the wet concrete echoed in the cavernous room, muted by the gentle sloshing of the pool.

"I know you're in here, Dean," he said, his voice resonating off the walls. "Don't hide from me."

There was a groan from the far corner. "Not fuckin' hiding from you, Cas. Can't a guy just wanna be alone?"

"When you're left alone, people die," Cas said simply. "Granted, not particularly good people, but the killing still feeds the Mark." His footfalls continued their rhythm over the floor.

" _Everything_ feeds the Mark." Dean stood up from the lounge chair where he'd been sitting with his head in his hands. "If I kill, it feeds it. If I don't kill, it eats away at me an' gets fed anyway. Least I might take out some evil in the world before it finishes me off."

"That's not how it works. If you let it control you, let it take you over, and you go nuclear, you'll do a hundred times the damage they've done put together."

"Great," Dean snapped. "Thanks for that fuckin' fantastic advice. You're the next Dear Abby. Now will you leave me alone?"

"No." He stepped forward, into Dean's personal space, and Dean's nostrils flared. "You must learn to control it, to make it bend to _your_ will. You must learn discipline."

" _Disci_ \- -- Dude, you ain't never met my dad, but believe me, I learned discipline."

"No," Cas said again. "You learned blind obedience, which is why the Mark has such control over you. Discipline means understanding when to fight, and when to submit."

"I ain't fuckin' _submitting_ to shit," Dean muttered, but he rubbed at the Mark on his arm.

"You will," Cas said, infuriatingly sure. "When you learn to submit to what is stronger than you, you'll learn to control what is weaker." He reached out and wrapped his hand around Dean's forearm. "I dragged you out of Hell, Dean. I pieced you back together, body and soul. I know your strength, and your weakness, much better than you do yourself."

Dean stared at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Fine, I'll bite. What do you suggest, since you know me so well?"

Cas ignored him, thumbing at the blackened skin. "This thing is so petty," he murmured, almost to himself. "But you fight it, and you feed it. Because that's what you do, isn't it, one way or another? You fight, and you feed."

"Are we done with the fuckin' psychoanalysis? I got somewhere to be."

"Then why are you here?" Cas countered, not releasing his arm. Something flared in Dean's stomach under the shimmering stare, and finally he dropped his eyes. "Good."

"Yeah, good job. You're stronger than a human. I'm sure that makes your immortal ass feel awful big and strong."

"It has nothing to do with my grace," Cas murmured. "You're stronger than many angels. You killed Zachariah. You killed Eve. Those were not flukes."

"Then what the fuck is your _point_?"

Cas' grip tightened. "You're not stronger than _me_. Right now, you don't care where you stand in a fight. You don't care if you'd win against me, or against the Mark, and it will kill you. My _point_ , as you say, is showing you the difference."

"What, you want to fight me?" Dean said incredulously. "Dude, I already know you can kick my ass. In case you forgot, you've done it."

"You hardly fought back," he pointed out. "You were submitting to me then, although you weren't aware of it. I intend to make you aware of it."

"What the _fuck_ ," Dean snapped, wrenching his arm free and breathing hard. "What the fuck are you playin' at?"

Cas tilted his head, and the buzzing in his stomach intensified. "You can walk away, Dean. You can walk out that door, and I won't stop you. But it _will_ consume you, if you let it."

Dean stared at him, jaw clenched, then all at once he wilted, sitting back down on the white plastic chair.

"All right, so, what exactly d'you have in mind here? All this talkin' 'bout _submission_ and _discipline_ sounds an awful lot like sex, and you know I don't swing that way."

"Yes you do," Cas said matter-of-factly, and Dean's head jerked up.

"What the fuck?" he sputtered. "Uh, no, definitely like the ladies."

"Yes, you do," Cas agreed, and Dean stared at him blankly.

"Kinda just contradicted yourself there, angel."

"How?" His voice was even and curious.

"Uh, 'cause I like _women_ ," Dean clarified. "Not _dudes_."

Cas hummed thoughtfully. He turned his head, staring at the shimmering water of the pool. "You know, I've never understood what triggered the human preoccupation with sexuality," he mused. "Ancient peoples never thought about it. Why does it matter so much to you?"

"It doesn't -- it's not that it _matters_ ," Dean said, his voice cracking. "It's just -- I'm not, okay?"

"If you say so." Cas took off his shoes and socks, then rolled up his slacks. He stood up and walked to the side of the pool, gesturing for Dean to join him. Dean stared at him in confusion, then sighed and obeyed.

"It needn't be sexual," Cas said, sitting down and letting his feet dangle in the cool water. "Just then, you obeyed me without argument."

"I didn't --!"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Cas interrupted. "But you must know that I'll never take your obedience by force."

Dean bristled, then deflated. "Yeah, okay. That's -- yeah."

Cas rolled his eyes, and Dean almost laughed at the humanity of the gesture. He rolled up his jeans to his knees and sat down awkwardly, stretching his legs into the water.

They sat together without speaking, the weight of silence tempered by the constant echoing splashes, and the soft light under the water glittered aqua in the shadows. Dean felt the prickly tension draining out of him incrementally.

"What do you want, Dean?" Cas asked after awhile, and he tensed up again immediately.

"Uh, lotta things. Gonna have to be more specific."

"The Mark. What do you want to happen?"

"For it to be _gone_. Thought that much was obvious."

"Do you?" Cas said in a neutral voice. Dean opened his mouth impatiently, but Cas cut him off. "I know what it feels like, being addicted to the power. You took the Mark, yes, but I declared myself a god."

Dean hesitated, kicking at the water again, then sighed. "Yeah. I'd be lyin' if I said there ain't a part of me that wants to keep it, to feed it. We both know it. An' maybe someday that'll win. But I'm still in here so far, and I want it gone. I wanna beat it, Cas."

Cas nodded once. He reached over and picked up Dean's arm, studying the Mark. He flicked pool water at it absently, and Dean almost expected it to burn and sizzle, but it just slid down his skin and dripped off the jut of his elbow.

"Okay," he finally blurted out without quite meaning to, and Cas looked at him questioningly. "Okay -- yeah. If you think you can help me figure out how to -- how to fight the Mark, without feedin' it -- yeah, okay. I'll try it."

Cas tilted his head, studying his face. "Are you sure?"

Dean snorted mirthlessly. "Nope." He flexed his fingers unconsciously. "But you're right, man. The path I'm on -- I got it under control now, but it slips a little every time. Every kill. I ain't winnin' this fight, Cas."

"No," Cas agreed quietly. "You aren't." He pulled Dean's arm over his lap, then dragged his thumbnail from inner wrist to elbow. Dean hissed, tensing and twisting his arm, but he didn't pull away.

Cas bent his head, opening his mouth, and he traced a few inches of the Mark with his tongue.

"The fuck, Cas," Dean muttered weakly. "Thought you said this didn't have to be sexual."

"It doesn't. But you're aroused, are you not?"

Dean glanced down, at the obvious bulge in his jeans, and flushed. "Dude, you're _licking_ me. Kinda hard not to have _some_ reaction."

"Because you're attracted to me," Cas said. Dean stiffened and tried to pull away, but Cas just shifted back, letting his legs fall open to show his own arousal in his slacks.

"What," Dean said, swallowing harshly. "You -- you're --?"

"Attracted to you?"

Dean grunted, and Cas sighed.

"Yes. I wouldn't have told you, before, unless --" For the first time, the angel stumbled over his words. "Unless you indicated the same. I don't wish to cause you discomfort. But I know how the Mark works, and things like it. Does it bother you, Dean? Really?"

Dean stared at him, disbelieving, but at the open lack of judgment on Cas' face he sagged, considering.

"Shit," he finally said, a hint of wonder in his voice. "I, uh. No, I guess it doesn't anymore."

A smile curved onto Cas' lips. "Good." He bent his head again, brushing his mouth over the tender skin at his wrist, and Dean almost successfully bit back a whimper. Cas nipped at his forearm, his teeth worrying gently at the dark lines, and Dean's hips jerked reflexively.

"Be still," Cas murmured without lifting his head. "Be quiet."

"Cas…" Dean hissed.

Cas dug his fingernail hard into the flesh of his inner elbow. "I've told you to be quiet," he reminded him, his voice unreadable. "Or do you want me to stop?"

Dean opened his mouth to say _yes_ , of fucking course, he did not sign up for some impromptu fucking lesson in submission, he'd deal with the Mark alone.

"No," he said instead in a hoarse whisper. "Please."

"Do you trust me?"

Dean stared at him, at the sincerity in those impossible eyes, then nodded mutely.

"Good," Cas said again. "Take off your shirt."

Dean hesitated, swallowing hard, but Cas just waited silently. Finally he gave a tiny sigh and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it to his side. Cas let his eyes rove unashamedly over the musculature of his torso.

"Like what you see?" Dean threw out with a weak smirk.

Cas looked up at him for a moment, then without warning he reached out and dragged the pad of his thumb over a nipple, and Dean gasped.

"Yes," he said simply. "But you aren't being quiet."

Dean bristled, his eyes narrowing in challenge, then deflated, dropping his eyes.

"Who was the last person you killed?" Cas asked, pressing his thumb back against the Mark. Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting a reprimand, but Cas just nodded encouragingly.

"Uh -- was two dudes, they were runnin' sex trafficking. Kids, most of 'em. More people involved, a'course, but they were the nexus." He flexed his forearm and the Mark shimmered, almost imperceptible. "Should've tipped off the cops, I know -- weren't demons or shifters or nothin' I'm responsible for. And, shit, they probably'd suffer more in prison than the death I gave 'em. And the kids -- for all I know, I fuckin' left 'em to an even worse place. But I found 'em, the guys, I walked in that warehouse, and -- I couldn't, Cas. They were worse than monsters. They had a _choice_. And I tore them right up."

He waited for a lecture or scolding, but the Cas' face was thoughtful.

"It feeds both sides of your nature," he finally said. "What you're doing. The purity in your soul, and the evil in the Mark." The outline itched, hot to the touch, and Dean clenched his fist, anticipating the rage curling into his gut, but under the angel's touch, with the cool water lapping at his feet, it never rose past a simmer. "That's why it's so difficult to resist the urge."

"Guess so." He stared into the water.

"Do you feel it now, when you think about it? The need to kill?"

"Besides you?" Dean muttered, but Cas just gave him a look, and he sighed. "Yeah, I feel it." He flexed his arm again. "But it's… more like an itch, not a need. Can't tell if you make it better or worse."

"Both," Cas agreed. "Your soul wants to let me help, let me care for you. The Mark wants you to snarl and scratch and bleed."

"So what the fuck do I _do_?"

"Decide," Cas said simply.

Dean stared at him for a moment, then reached out and grabbed Cas' tie, pulling him in until their lips met. Cas made a small, surprised sound, to Dean's gratification, but within seconds he was kissing back, hot and desperate, coaxing Dean's lips open with his tongue.

Finally he pulled back, planting his hand on Dean's chest when he tried to follow. "You are as bad at keeping still as you are at keeping quiet," he said, quiet and unsteady.

"You _told_ me to -- _mmph_." Cas' mouth was back on his, and then he found himself being hauled to his feet, spun around and shoved at one of the lawn chairs folded out horizontal. Before his brain caught up to current events, long fingers were working at his jeans.

"Jesus, Cas -- not even gonna buy me dinner?"

"I pulled you out of Hell," Cas reminded him. "Dinner seems like an afterthought." He got the button open and zipper down, then paused with his index fingers hooked into the waistband. "Dean… I'm aware of your desire. But you must know I won't force you to act on it."

Dean blinked at him in confusion, then sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Fuck it. You know it already, the fuck's the point of lyin' to myself about it?" He drew back slightly, giving Cas a long, narrow-eyed look. "This ain't some ploy, Cas, is it? Manipulatin' me into -- into admittin' stuff to myself, or into -- into sex…"

Cas froze, silent and motionless, his unreadable stare boring into Dean until he opened his mouth to try to backtrack. "Not that -- I just meant -- _ow_!" he yelped as Cas flipped him to his stomach, his face pressed into the plastic of the chair.

"That you would think so little of me," Cas hissed into his ear, low and dangerous. "That I would _take_ from you like that."

"I didn't -- I just --"

"If you did not wish to give me your body, I would find another way," he murmured, twisting his fingers into Dean's hair. "Tell me, Dean. What do you want?"

"I," Dean said, his eyes screwed shut. "I -- yes."

"Yes?"

"Yeah. Show me how to -- how to keep in control. Whatever you want."

As soon as the words were out, his jeans were being yanked down his thighs, followed by his boxers, until he was sprawled out naked on the unforgiving plastic with fingertips ghosting over his skin.

Then Cas' hand closed over his forearm again, and his body blistered into a melee of sensation: the Mark burned deep in his veins, but somehow the coolness of Cas' skin and the tang of the chlorinated air dulled the fire, and underneath it arousal coiled in his belly and throbbed in his cock.

"Decide, Dean," Cas said softly. "What will you fight, and what will you feed?"

Dean took several deep, steadying breaths, until the warring sensations began to settle. Trying to shut down the burn of the Mark only stoked it, so instead he ignored it, concentrating on Cas' fingertips and the building desire.

"Good," Cas murmured, stroking a hand down his back, and a pleased flush crept up his neck.

Suddenly a hand connected with the bare skin of his ass, and he yelped.

"The fuck?" he gasped, trying to flip over, but Cas had a hand planted inexorably in the small of his back.

"Whatever I want," Cas reminded him, dropping a sharp blow to the other side.

"Dude -- not -- you can't --"

"I can," Cas said, gentle but firm. "Your strength is impressive, but negligible against mine." He held Dean steady, spanking him twice over the tender sit bones. Dean's hands came up to grip the metal sides of the lounge chair, but he didn't protest.

Cas rubbed his hand over the silky skin, pale pink in the unearthly light of the pool. "May I continue?"

Dean sucked in a shaky breath, clearly warring with himself. "I -- yeah. Do it."

Cas smacked him again, hard, and he bit back a whimper. "You're so beautiful," Cas murmured, stroking down Dean's back even as he dug his nails into the flesh of his ass. "So much pain, so much self-loathing, yet you glow, inside and out."

Dean didn't move or respond, breathing high and unsteady, and Cas smiled. "Good." He resumed spanking him, landing sharp and precise on reddening skin in a relentless staccato, echoing on the walls. The Mark screamed at Dean to throw Cas off, to bite and struggle, but with every blow Dean's focus seeped away from its demands, resettling in the burning pain being spanked into his ass and the twin pleasure building in his groin.

"Cas," Dean begged. "Cas, I can't --"

"Shh." Cas ran a thumb down his spine, dipping into the cleft between his cheeks, pressing firmly.

" _Cas…_ " The flush in his neck had spread across his shoulders and up into his ears, and his hips jerked instinctively.

Cas spanked him again, hard, twice on each side. "Be still," he reminded him. "Let me help you."

Dean's fingers clenched on the sides of the chair until the knuckles turned white and his breathing was shallow and unsteady, but he seemed to be unaware of the Mark, dark and shining, visibly demanding his attention.

Finally, after a particularly sharp slap on a blossoming bruise, Dean couldn't quite choke back a sob. Cas dropped one final blow across both cheeks, then lifted the hand on the small of his back, stepping away slightly. Without that pressure grounding him, Cas half-expected him to scramble up and start throwing punches with a snarl, but he lay still, forehead still pressed to the plastic.

Cas ran a gentle hand from his shoulder down his back, and when he got to the hot red skin of his ass Dean flinched but didn't protest.

"Are you okay?" Cas asked carefully, tracing cool fingertips over the tender flesh.

Dean snorted weakly. "I got no idea." He turned his head and stared at his right forearm, then flexed his fingers. "I feel it, but it's… muted. Dull." He threw a glare over his shoulder at Cas. "But if you think this means I'm gonna come beggin' you to turn my ass red every time I got the itch to kill, I'm 'fraid you best think again."

Cas smiled slightly, dropping a soft pinch to his ass, and Dean yelped. "No. But I needed to show you. The Mark wanted you to fight me, did it not? Even though you know you couldn't hurt me?"

"I -- yeah, it did. I did."

"But you didn't. Yet you didn't fight the Mark, either."

"No, I -- it was there, but I just -- it was sort of just _there_."

"Because you turned your focus from it, towards human things. To the human pain of my hand, instead of the soul-pain of the Mark."

"Dude, I feel like I've had more'n my share of _human pain_ in my life. Including since I took this on. Didn't exactly calm me down before."

"But you enjoyed this," Cas said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Dean said, trying to twist around, but Cas pinned him gently. "Dude, it _hurts_."

"Yes," Cas agreed. He pressed a fingertip directly onto a bruise, and Dean groaned, turning his face back into the chair. "Pleasure and pain need not be enemies." He massaged Dean's cheeks roughly, pulling them apart, then nudged his legs wider until he could kneel between them.

"Cas, what the -- _fuck_!" he yelped, hips jerking off the chair as a warm tongue brushed against his hole, but Cas forced them back down.

"You must fight both sides of the Mark," he said quietly. "The blind lust as well as the blind rage."

"You can't -- you can't --" Dean cut himself off with a moan as the tip of Cas' tongue pushed minutely inside. "Fuck -- Cas -- I --"

The Mark was glowing hot and edged in red again, but Dean's hands just twisted in empty air, and he seemed oblivious to the darkness on his forearm. Cas spread his cheeks further, until his face was buried in Dean's ass.

"What," Dean choked. "Cas…"

Cas worked his tongue inside, and Dean's protests melted into sobs. Instinctively his legs fell open, feet braced on the concrete floor.

" _Cas_ ," Dean keened, reaching behind himself to scrabble at Cas' shoulder. Cas paused, thumbing gently at Dean's hole, waiting for a signal.

"Yeah," Dean finally breathed, tugging Cas back in. "Yeah. Keep goin'."

Cas hummed softly, and the vibration sent shivers snaking up Dean's spine. He pushed his tongue back in, then slid his index finger underneath it, and Dean let out a choked moan.

Cas licked him out slowly, patiently and thoroughly, until Dean was a shivering, whimpering mess, his hips rocking, toes curled and fingers flexing.

" _Cas_ ," Dean said again, insistently. "I want -- I want --"

"Tell me what you want, Dean," Cas murmured, running a hand down his thigh.

"I want -- will you -- Cas, _please_." He turned his head, hiding his face in the plastic again.

"Do you want me, Dean?" Cas reached between Dean's legs, stroking his cock for the first time, gathering precome on this thumb.

"Yes," Dean hissed. He shifted on the chair until his red ass was presented in clear invitation, and Cas inhaled sharply.

"You're sure." He dragged his slick thumb down Dean's spine.

" _Yes_." Dean turned half around, lying on his side until he could look at Cas again. "Want it -- want _you_ , need you." He reached out, pressing his fingers to Cas' mouth. "I do, okay? Don't make me spell it out."

Cas watched him for a moment, the expressions flicking through the vivid green eyes, then leaned down to kiss him, soft and tender.

"I love you, too," he said, laying a finger across Dean's lips before he could protest.

He manhandled Dean until he was sprawled out on his back, legs bent and wide, then stood up, stripping off his own clothes. Settling back down onto the lounge chair, he kissed down Dean's chest.

Teasing one finger at Dean's hole again, he nuzzled his mouth to Dean's ear. "I'm going to use my grace," he murmured. "It -- it might hurt. Tell me."

"Fine," Dean gasped. "I'll tell you -- just -- please."

Cas closed his eyes, letting little bits of grace flow through his hands, stretching Dean to his touch. He opened his eyes, and Dean was staring at him, open-mouthed.

"I _feel_ you," he said. "I feel -- I feel -- _you_."

"Yes," Cas agreed. He looked down, already three fingers deep. Dean was bucking up to meet them, ignoring the pain of friction on the abused flesh. "Are you ready?"

" _Yes_ ," Dean insisted. "Cas -- will you -- _fuck me_."

Cas let out a broken moan, then shifted up until his cock was nudging at Dean's hole. Dean's body opened under his, and Cas slid inside easily, his face going slack and shocked.

"Dean -- you feel -- you _feel_ \--"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean rasped. "S'good, right? So good."

"So good," Cas echoed.

The Mark on Dean's arm was aflame, skin cracking in the corners, but Dean's eyes stayed locked onto Castiel's. Cas brought his left hand up to wrap around Dean's forearm, fingertips splaying over the hot flesh.

Dean arched his back as the Mark lit up, burning red and black and yellow, and he howled. Cas thrust into him, slow and steady, until Dean's breathing settled slightly.

"Harder," he breathed, bending his knees until his legs were folded along Cas' sides.

Cas gripped his hip with his free hand and drove in hard, sharp hipbones slamming tender skin. Dean screwed his eyes shut, reaching out blindly and grabbing onto Cas' thighs, pulling him deeper.

"Open your eyes." Cas dug his thumbnail in, and Dean's eyes shot open. "I want to see you."

"Cas," Dean moaned, back bowed and fingers scrabbling on sweat-slick legs. "Cas -- 'm gonna -- _please_..."

Cas brought Dean's forearm to his lips. "Come, Dean," he whispered, pressing lips to shimmering skin. The Mark flared once, white like fire, and Dean seized up, coming in hard, endless spurts over his belly. At the heat clenching over his cock Cas dropped his head, wide-eyed, filling Dean with hot wetness.

Cas pulled out carefully, dropping along Dean's side on the small lounge chair.

"Dean?"

"Mrghh," Dean slurred, turning his head to the side.

Cas trailed a thumb over his jawline. "Dean."

"What," Dean asked, tucking his body into himself, rolling over.

Cas grabbed his arm, running his finger over the Mark. It was as clear as ever, dark against the skin pale in the strange light, but it had lost its angry glow. Cas pressed his thumb over its lines, and Dean tilted his head back, his face blank.

"I don't -- I don't feel it."

A wide, pink smile broke over Cas' face. He bent his head, mouthing over Dean's forearm, and Dean's breathing hitched, but the Mark stayed dormant and dull.

"God, I bet you look smug right now," Dean mumbled, but he let Cas pull him back until he was flush against his chest, their legs tangled together awkwardly. He could feel Cas' small smile against his shoulder.

"Not smug. I'm… hopeful. Your soul is still intact. So responsive to my grace."

"Dude, 'm not _responsive_ ," he huffed, a flush creeping up his neck. "Am stoic and manly."

"Hmm," Cas agreed, nuzzling his neck. "Utterly detached."

Dean snorted, then pushed himself up slightly. "Dude, shouldn't there be, like, _people_ around? What'd you do, transport the whole fuckin' pool to Siberia or somethin'?"

Cas' eye-roll was almost palpable, and Dean bit back a grin.

"I'm an angel of the Lord, Dean. I know how to lock a door."

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://relucant.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/relucanting). I'm nice.


End file.
